In retrospect, summer always feel like a simpler time, even if in the moment it was far from it.  I find this to be especially true in New England.  Here my mood is easily coaxed by the effervescent seasons.  My mood is dismal as of late to say the least, spurred by a messy environmental – each day here has provided either sloppy rain/snow/sleet mix or bone-chilling arctic winds – and emotional situation.  Therefore, I decided to take a moment to reflect on brighter, warmer, and seemingly, easier times.

One of my most cherished friends from college, Kevin, had a brief stint at a New Hampshire newspaper last year.  He has since moved, not unchallenged by my bitter disapproval:  I have few friendships I have managed to maintain over the years, and even less in close physical range, making Kevin one of my most frequent companions at the time.

Some of my fondest memories of the time Kevin and I spent together while he was in such close proximity were in a canoe on Dube’s Pond, conveniently located in his backyard, in rural Hooksett.  We spent a many lazy afternoons paddling, well mostly floating, around the pond in his landlord’s canoe with our fishing poles. There were islands spattered throughout the pond we would frequent.

On this particular afternoon Kevin and I beached at the affectionately titled “Goose Poop Island”, where we had luck before; maybe what the superstitious say about bird dropping is true – it proved to be on this day.  Kevin caught a small pickerel. I named him Chulo.

Chulo proved to be a most stubborn pickerel.  I imagine he was enraged about being fooled, and therefore resisted most of our attempts at hastily trying to set him free, leaving Kevin and myself feeling guilty for falsely enticing Chulo for our own amusement.  We did get him off the hook, and he floated deep into the murky pond water, I hope only taking a moment to catch his breath and not sinking to his final resting place.

Kevin also took a moment of Chulo’s time to demonstrate how to enhance  the impressive-quality of your catch photographically:  lean the captive in close as possible to the lens, keeping your arm fully extended.